Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  How fragile.

  Reminded him too vividly of the fear he had felt earlier today when he cut his journey short. When he had discovered Thorolf missing from his enclave on the eastern shore.

  The place had been deserted. Abandoned. Thorolf might have gone off somewhere to sulk, as he often did, but he was also vicious enough to seek vengeance against those he blamed for his punishment by the eldrer.

  Including Avril.

  For one moment, standing in the doorway of Thorolf’s empty dwelling, Hauk had felt a stab of cold fear—not for his people, or for his friend Keldan, but for the bride he had left alone and unprotected.

  He had run all afternoon through the rain, not even stopping to eat, pausing at Keldan’s just long enough to warn him. Then he had finally reached his own vaningshus —and found Avril missing.

  Hauk forced the memory away, not wanting to relive the dread he had experienced. Or the relief and gratitude to the gods he had felt upon finding her safe and well. He could not allow her to stir his heart this way.

  Misery and torment, he reminded himself. She can only bring you misery and torment in the end.

  Avril sighed in enjoyment as she finished her meal—and Hauk realized he had unintentionally fulfilled one of the commands set forth in the Havamal: A new husband was to discover his bride’s favorite foods and provide them for her.

  Just as he was to discover all of her favorite, secret pleasures.

  “Did you eat naught while I was away?” he asked, chagrined.

  “What?”

  “You eat as if you had been starving, and you are”—despite himself, he found his gaze drawn back to her—”unusually quiet.”

  They regarded each other across the scant distance that separated them, the cookfire making the night air crackle with flames and heat.

  As before, she held his gaze only a moment before she glanced away, color rising in her cheeks. “If I seem quiet, it is simply because I am tired. As I told you earlier, the storm kept me awake.”

  Her blush deepened.

  Hauk frowned at her in confusion, unable to fathom why she would turn scarlet because a storm had kept her awake.

  Unless it was not, in truth, the weather that had disturbed her sleep... but something else.

  He almost choked on his own breath, remembering the unfinished explanation she had offered earlier, just before she began babbling on about the storm.

  I have had bad...

  Dreams? Was it her dreams that left her blushing and breathless?

  Had she been unable to sleep for the same reason as him?

  His heart thudded a single, violent stroke then began pounding. He had heard legends of Asgard men and their mates who shared a bond so deep that they did not need words to communicate, even when distance separated them—a bond so strong they even shared the same dreams.

  He had always dismissed such tales as fanciful nonsense.

  But he could not dismiss the way Avril was reacting to him tonight. How different she seemed. His brain rioted with questions.

  Had she been dreaming of him? Was it desire that made her blush? Was that why she remained by his side—because she was drawn to him in the same powerful, inescapable way he was drawn to her?

  How might she respond if he closed the distance between them now, if he drew her near and kissed her? Would it win him a slap? A knife in his gullet?

  Or the kind of response he had dreamed of?

  Her gaze still lowered, she wiped his knife in the sand and tossed it aside. It landed next to his discarded sword. “Sword, knife, battle-ax,” she mused. “You travel heavily armed, Hauk. Was your journey dangerous?”

  “Were you worried for me, wife?” His voice sounded husky, even to his own ears.

  “Do not call me that,” she chided.

  He noticed she had not answered his question.

  He also noted that at some point, she had started calling him by his first name rather than “Norseman” or “Valbrand.”

  How would she taste? Would her mouth be hot and hungry beneath his, or sweet and soft?

  “Fear not,” he managed to say, “I am unharmed. I suffered naught but a small gash.” Lifting his right hand, he revealed an angry red mark that ran up his arm from wrist to elbow, earned when he slipped on a jagged outcropping of stone while running home through the rain.

  She gasped. “Sweet Mary.” Lips parted, she started to say more, then stopped herself, regarding him with a look that held...

  By all the gods, it was concern he saw in her gaze. Concern for his pain. For him. She had been worried about him.

  Just as he had been worried about her.

  He turned away abruptly, shaking off the feelings, unable to look into his wife’s sparkling emerald eyes a moment longer. He would not do this to himself. It was bad enough that she trespassed on his thoughts waking and sleeping. Bad enough that she made him want, in a way he had not wanted in half a lifetime.

  He had to accept her presence in his life, had to protect her and see to her needs—but he could not allow her to stir the ashes of feelings he had forgotten how to feel. For the sake of his sanity, he had to leave them buried. Buried, like the sketches and belongings he kept shut away in trunks because he could not bear to look at them and could not bring himself to destroy them.

  He stretched out on the sand, on his side, giving her his back. Then he reached for his cloak, pounding it into the shape of a pillow and jamming it under his head. Avril was merely a woman, like any other. He could control the desire he felt for her, and the other feelings as well.

  It was only fatigue that made the task seem unusually difficult.

  “You are going to sleep?” she asked curiously.

  “It is what I normally do when I am tired after a long journey,” he grated out.

  “Oh.” She remained quiet a moment. “I thought we might...”

  He clenched his teeth to resist the suggestive replies that sprang to mind: Kiss? Slowly undress one another? Discover how your naked body would feel against mine? Make hot, passionate love under the moon?

  “Talk,” she said.

  He released a harsh breath. “We can talk on the morrow.” Horn of Odin, if he had to look at her again, he was not sure he could keep himself from pulling her into his arms, pressing her down beside the fire, lifting the hem of her shift until her naked bottom met warm sand and his fingers found soft, wet silk.

  He wrestled his unruly thoughts under control, thwacked his pillow for good measure. “Go to sleep, Avril.”

  After a moment, he heard her move away a few paces, then stretch out on the sand. Grateful, he shut his eyes and prayed to all the gods to grant him sleep.

  Dreamless sleep.

  But apparently the gods were busy elsewhere this night.

  “I am certain your wounded arm will heal,” she said quietly. “No doubt within the hour.”

  “That does not make it hurt any less,” he muttered. The ocean breeze felt cool against his chest, the fire’s warmth hot against the bare skin of his back. The soothing, familiar sound of the wind and waves might have lulled him to sleep eventually.

  If he had not been blessed with a talkative bride.

  “How can that be?” she prodded. “How is it that wounds heal so quickly here? My jaw was broken in Antwerp, I am certain of it. And the other night, when I cut my hand, it healed almost at once. And everyone in the town seems to be in perfect health.”

  He did not reply.

  “Hauk?”

  He glared into the night, annoyed with himself for having leaped to half-witted conclusions earlier like some naive, first-time groom. He had been wrong, of course. He and Avril did not share dreams or desire or any gentler sort of feelings.

  This was why she had remained near him: because she hoped to glean information about Asgard, while he was tired enough to be careless. Information that might help her in whatever escape attempt she was no doubt planning.

  “Hauk? Are you awake?”

  H
e could pretend to be asleep, but he had known from the beginning that he would have to answer her questions about the island sooner or later. Revealing part of the truth—a small part—might satisfy her curiosity for now.

  And keep her from asking questions he truly did not wish to answer.

  “Asgard has certain natural healing qualities,” he said simply, remaining on his side with his back to her. “Injuries heal swiftly and illness is unknown among us.”

  He could hear her sitting up. “But how is that possible? Is it some quality of the air? Or the water or the food? Or... or some unique herb or root found here and nowhere else?”

  “We do not know.”

  She uttered a scoffing sound. “I do not believe you. You know but you do not wish to tell me.”

  “I am speaking the truth. Many among us have sought to answer the question you ask.” He paused for a moment, an image of his father bright and sharp in his mind. “But no one knows for certain. It may be a combination of several qualities found in nature here, native to Asgard. We do not know.”

  She fell silent, as if weighing what he had said and trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

  “It is a shame that it remains a mystery,” she said at last.

  “Aye,” he agreed, with a bitterness he doubted she could fathom.

  “But even if you do not know how this place offers such wondrous healing, why do you not share it with the world? Why take such care to keep your island secret? Imagine the good you could do. Imagine the people you could help—”

  “Imagine how quickly Asgard would be overrun and destroyed,” he said flatly. “We must keep it secret. It is the only way to protect our home and those who live here.”

  A soft note of understanding came into her voice. “And that is why you will not allow any of the captives to leave.”

  “Aye.”

  There was more to it than that, but he was not ready to reveal the rest. There was no telling what a woman as unpredictable as Avril might do—especially when she was still bent on escape.

  “But why bring captives here at all?” she asked, sounding bewildered. “It seems a terrible risk to take, merely to...” She hesitated. “To what? What in the name of all the saints do you want with us?”

  He rolled onto his back, sighing wearily and staring up at the cloud-darkened sky. It seemed he would get no more sleep tonight than he had the last two nights. “I told you before, I do not want you at—”

  “Aye, I know. You do not want me at all. You acquired me purely by accident,” she said dryly. “But what about the others? Why would men risk so much simply to get a wife?”

  “Some young hotheads find risk exciting. And they want what most men want. Companionship. A comely wench to warm their beds.” He slanted her a glance.

  Avril reddened and lowered her lashes. “But why not marry one of the women who are already here?” she persisted. “Why not marry a... an innfodt woman?”

  Hauk narrowed his eyes, wondering who had told her that word—and how much she had been told about the difference between utlending and innfodt women. That discussion was supposed to be left for a husband to have with his wife. When he decided the time was right.

  “Some do,” he said slowly. “But others want...” He paused, assaulted by shards of memories, hopes and dreams shattered long ago. The unborn son he had lost. The family the gods had never granted him.

  He shrugged, the sand rough against his bare back. There was no need to open that painful subject. Not yet. Not now. “Bringing utlending brides here is a tradition.”

  “It seems a foolish tradition.”

  “Aye, I have said the same. Many times. But young ears are too often deaf to reason.”

  If she understood that he included her in that comment, she gave no sign.

  Still looking down, she drew a fingertip through the sand. “Then if you agree that it is a foolish tradition, and if I vowed by my child’s life that I would keep your secret—”

  “I still would not be able to set you free. By Thor’s hammer, Avril, save your breath and cease asking.” He let his head fall back, flung an arm over his eyes, wished he could shut her out. “And I would be a fool to trust your word of honor, since you have already lied to me once. Your friend told me the truth about your husband. About the fact that you are a widow.”

  “You cannot blame me for lying about that.” Avril’s voice sharpened. “Josette should not have... she did not mean to...” She whispered an oath. “She mistakenly thought she was helping me.”

  The breeze caught the flames of the dying cookfire, making them snap and hiss.

  “I could bring her here to live with you.”

  “Josette?” Avril asked in confusion.

  Hauk let his arm drop to the sand, realizing he had just voiced an idea that had been forming in his mind the past two days.

  “Your daughter,” he said quietly. “It might be possible for me to bring your daughter here to live with you.”

  For an instant Avril seemed incapable of speech. “What?”

  He pushed himself up and met her gaze beyond the dancing fire. “Despite your belief that we Norsemen are uncivilized and barbaric, I would not see a child made an orphan.”

  She gaped at him, blinking, as if the moon had just fallen through the clouds and landed beside her. “You would go and get Giselle?” she whispered. Her face brightened. “Aye, it is an excellent idea. I will go with you. I will take you there myself—”

  “Nay, milady, you will not,” he said with a frown, not taken in for a second by that suggestion. She meant to escape the instant she set foot on her home soil. “You will remain here. I would go alone.”

  She lowered her gaze. “But you will not find her without my help. And Gaston and Celine would not simply hand her over to a stranger. Her uncle will never allow you to take her—”

  “The uncle who is a duc, who lives in the Artois region?” He had thought the child might be in Brittany or somewhere else.

  Somewhere closer.

  “Aye, Duc Gaston de Varennes.” Her head came up, her eyes widening. “Hauk, he is not a man to be trifled with. You cannot even think of going there without me. He would kill anyone who tried to take Giselle—”

  “The Artois is too far.” Hauk shook his head, not sure what bothered him more: the fact that he had actually considered the idea, or that he felt genuine regret because it would not work. “It is impossible.”

  Avril was silent a moment.

  Her voice sounded unsteady when she spoke again. “And I would not see my daughter made a captive along with me,” she admitted. “Her life and her freedom mean more to me than my own. It is out of the question.” She closed her eyes, her lashes dark against her pale cheeks. “But you are... kind to be concerned about her well-being.” Slowly she looked up, her eyes searching his face. “You are not uncivilized and barbaric, Hauk. That is not what I think of you. You are... much different from what I thought a Viking warrior would be like. I did not expect kindness of you. Or thoughtfulness or gentleness.”

  Hauk could not summon a reply, the warmth in her expression playing havoc with his heartbeat. He did not want to be thoughtful or gentle or kind. Did not want this spirited, emerald-eyed lady to rouse such tenderness within him, make him remember what it was like to feel concern. And protectiveness.

  And caring.

  Not only for her, but for a child he had never even met.

  “I am not so virtuous,” he said roughly, half in denial, half in warning. “I merely want you to accept your new life here.”

  Shaking her head, Avril rose. “That I can never do.” She walked around the fire, toward the water, and stood facing the waves.

  The silence stretched out for a long moment before she said, “I thought you told me that no one kept boats on Asgard.”

  “Aye, that is what I told you.” He watched the wind play through her long hair and swirl her cloak and shift around her slender body.

  “So you lied to me,
” she said with soft accusation, looking over her shoulder at him. “And if it is possible for you to leave—”

  “I am the only one who leaves,” he said firmly, “and I leave only rarely.” He had ventured out more often in his youth, but it had become too painful to glimpse the outside world—with all its variety and excitement and constant change—only to be forced to return here. To remain here.

  Where even the perfect weather varied little from day to day, season to season, year to year.

  Avril turned to face him. “Then what did you mean when you said ‘the Artois is too far’?”

  “No one can leave the island for more than six days at a time. It is—” Impossible. “—the law.”

  She arched one brow in surprise. “If that is so, then Antwerp must be no more than six days from here. Nay...” A hint of satisfaction came into her voice as she looked out over the ocean. “Three.”

  Hauk cursed, annoyed that he had just heedlessly revealed information she might use to try to escape.

  He thrust himself to his feet and stalked over to her. “Avril, do not think what you are thinking. You cannot escape Asgard.”

  She lifted her chin and stared up at him, defiance in her eyes. “So you have said.”

  “By Hel, woman, do not act like a reckless little fool.” He took her arm, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of her cloak. “If you are drowned or crushed against the rocks, your child will be an orphan!”

  “Do you care so much?” Her eyes were suddenly bright with tears. “Do I matter to you so much?”

  Her tears burned him. Her question froze him.

  “I am trying to make you listen to logic,” he insisted hoarsely. “Logic and reason.”

  She struggled to wrench free of his grasp. “Reason does not matter to me. Your laws do not matter to me! You do not...”

  She seemed unable to finish that sentence, looked startled and dismayed that she could not. Her voice dissolved in a thready whisper. “Y-you do not...”

  The pain in her eyes made his heart strike a hard blow against his ribs. His hand came up to brush her tears away, as if his will were no longer in command of his movements.